


Kingdom Come

by macabreverbosity



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Blood, Brief suicidal ideation, Death, Death Wishes, Drinking to Cope, Established Relationship, Force Bond (Star Wars), Guilt, Hallucinations, Homicidal Ideation, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren-centric, M/M, Mild Gore, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Canon, Sensuality, Soulmates, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, anger issues, at the beginning, more implied than anything else. it's subtle., pure angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabreverbosity/pseuds/macabreverbosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Supreme Leader had made it very clear that Hux had to die and that he fully expected Kylo Ren to do the honors. Hux was a liability, a weakness that needed to be excised—much like a cancerous growth. Never mind what Kylo felt towards the General; and that was, perhaps, precisely the problem; he felt too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingdom Come

**Author's Note:**

> For Rob; who I hope will someday forgive me for this mess.

He could still feel it if he closed his eyes and angled his head just so.

The drag of fingers through his hair, a soothing rhythm. The slightest of tugs through the strands, fingers tripping and catching on an errant tangle occasionally. The scratch of nails over his scalp, massaging, pads soothing over the sting.

He reaches up to catch the hand and bring it down to his face, kissing across the blue-ish violet veins on the inside of the wrist, just there, where it was warm and smelled of stale smoke and cologne. Delicately tracing the lines there with the tip of his tongue. Biting lightly at the thin skin, never quite breaking it, not yet, that was always for later when he’d be able to patch it up. Fix it.

A moan, a plea, a soft chuckle. He can almost hear it and he chases after the sound. Desperate. Dread mounting as the wisps of sound slip from between his fingertips and vanish into nothing; as though they were never there to begin with. A halted tune that hung and dispersed, only leaving the memory of sensation behind, all the more agonizing for its previous vitality.

He clutches the hand to his chest tighter, almost as though it were really there and for a moment he allows himself that small weakness. Hope. He allows himself the denial of what he'd had to have done. Of what he was compelled to do and he cries, the tears scalding and opprobrious. The master of the Knights of Ren cries as he clutches the fabric of his ruined tunic in one hand and pretends it is Hux's hands cradling him. Pretending that Hux were still alive, that he had not been forced to kill his own heart.

He sits on the cold metal floor of his personal quarters on the Finalizer, slumped against his bed. Some unidentified liquor he’d procured from Hux’s former quarters clouding his vision. All of Hux’s possessions, in fact, were neatly put into two boxes and sent to him where they now rested, untouched, against the wall in the farthest corner of his room—all besides the General’s great coat which was draped over him like a shield. It felt like a cruel joke, the gesture. A slap to the face. They all knew and Kylo could not have cared any less even if he were inclined to try. Let them know, let them all know how he’d been broken, it mattered very little at the moment. He doubted it would ever matter.

Lifting the glass once more to his lips he thinks about what had happened. Replays the scene over and over in his head like a broken projection set on infinite loop. He hadn’t been there, he had not done it personally—he could not bring himself to, truth be told, which would likely be addressed—punished. He’d seen it, though. Felt it as their force bond had been severed irrevocably.

The liquor was starting to numb the ache of that bottomless pit of…lack. It was as though an organ had been ripped out from the root and his body had been left open to hemorrhage. He remembers collapsing like a puppet with all the strings cut. He doesn’t remember much else afterwards.

The Supreme Leader had made it very clear that Hux had to die and that he fully expected Kylo Ren to do the honors. Hux was a liability, a weakness that needed to be excised—much like a cancerous growth. Never mind what Kylo felt towards the General; that was, perhaps, precisely the problem, he felt too much.

Once more he attempts to reach for the comfort of phantom hands and feels them rake slowly over his face. This wasn’t _his_ Hux, his Hux would never forgive him for this. Even if his dying words had been resigned, a declaration of love never physically uttered, an expression of forgiveness that Kylo could not give himself. Twice now he had killed someone he loved and yet the death of his father had not ruined him—had not broken him—like losing Hux had.

Kylo had very little he cared about in the galaxy. Once upon a time, it had been his training and his family, another life time when he had been someone else. He wonders, briefly, if Ben Solo would have been able to keep Hux and banishes the thought as soon as it presents itself. Ben Solo had been nothing and would have continued to be nothing, he would have never been able to catch a fleeting glimpse of the General of the First Order—the General that seemed to burn golden red like the sun, now snuffed out like a candle—let alone keep him. It was the irony of the moment that made him laugh, really. It was all for not, he hadn’t realized when his priorities had shifted from self-grandeur to ensuring Hux’s grandeur. It was all for not now.

Perhaps that was what Snoke had wanted. To eliminate a threat. He could not, after all, have Kylo’s loyalty wavering or worse yet shifting sides. The attack dog he’d starved and beaten, driven mad, could not be allowed to turn on its Master. Kylo laughs bitterly, it was comical, really.

He hurls the glass he’d been drinking from against the opposite wall, watching the glass shatter and rain down in glittering shards, he raises one hand to freeze them in place and looks at the glittering mess curiously. He looks at the amber rivulets slowly rolling down the wall where the glass had shattered, and he remembers the blood on his clothes, still dripping onto the floor—Hux’s blood.

He can still see Hux lying crumpled on the ground like a broken rag doll,—guts spilled out of his body in a sick swell onto the ground, blood pooling quickly and copiously, black like oil—his wide crystalline blue eyes open and unseeing, looking up heavenward. The Knights had not been kind, they had not been neat neither quick, the wounds blunt and numerous. In that moment, hugging Hux’s tattered body to his chest, gathering what remained of him into his arms, what little humanity Kylo had retained flickered briefly and died out.

He’d given Hux a proper burial—a private affair where he’d buried the General on his home planet with a piece of his shawl wrapped around his wrist. Sentimental, he knew, but it was symbolic; he would be burying Kylo Ren alongside his General.

There was very little he cared about in the galaxy before but now there was none. A well of anger surged up and flooded his whole being with rage. No, that was not accurate, this was beyond rage. Murderous and without mercy, a slow calm descends upon him as he lifts his hand to cradle the necklace Hux had given him—a simple silver chain—and he thinks, _yes, no one would be spared._

If he were to be viewed as a monster, then so be it. He would show them what monsters were capable of, not a shred of mercy would be shown.

Snoke would be first, He would hear his former master beg for his life and Kylo would deny him. It almost brought a smile to his face, if he were capable of such an expression any longer, that is. He could see it projected up against his eyelids with surprising clarity, a force vision then.

The whole galaxy would succumb to him, would pay for Hux’s death. He had very little to live for but he would burn the world to cinders before he was put down—and he would be put down—viciously, fighting and snapping. It would be bloody and horrifying.

He would not have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr [here](murderdollls.tumblr.com)  
> 


End file.
